Just Another Midwinters' Night
by Ovo
Summary: FFI. Onrac and the Winter Solstice. No festivals, no prayers... just hibernation, and the longest night that every year past belonged to him.


**Just Another Midwinters' Night**

Snow. It was cold, often white, and annoying to be buried under a large amount of it. Flinging it at one's companions, however, could be very fun.

The snowball that breezed past the black wizard's head and hit the tree to his left was either his luck or a deliberately missed shot. Somehow, Zeus concluded it was luck and decided not to press it further. He ducked behind the tree and concentrated on the unseen forces in the air. The wonderful thing about magic was that it was not always necessary to see a target to hit it.

The yelp of surprise gave the cue for the black mage to run, which he did towards the modern looking building that seemed to offer sufficient enough cover from either of his attackers. Of course there was a especially safe place he could have tried to get to, but only from the snow and the risks of other danger was a little too high.

Packing a snowball together to conserve magic, the wizard found a good place to wait. Waiting was his specialization, but he needed a good place to do so. He never found a place before the white wizard walked into view. Surprised, Zeus threw the snow at her with as much force as he could. It exploded in a puff of white powder against her parka.

The black wizard threw up his arms in defense as Gaia smirked and hurled her own snowball. It and a second suddenly slowed and melted as they approached, and a third struck the white mage so that it got lodged in her between her neck and her protective clothing.

"It's cold!" she cried out, trying to remove the offending icy stuff.

As though suddenly allied, the pair of wizards turned on their assailant. Tarn spent the seconds he had in a foolish way; he stooped to get more snow. When he stood he was pelted by snowballs both magic and mundane. So he retreated towards the main road of the city. He never realized how lovely Onrac could be in the winter. Perhaps because he had never been here before the last couple of weeks, winter or not.

Snow was nice, he thought as he evaded his pursuit. Ice as well. He had found out the dangerous way how slippery it could be. He rushed back towards the inn, passing the fountain that seemed frozen in time. He passed by startled people as he ran through the building and towards the room that was officially his until the next Thursday.

Arah gave him little notice as he entered the apartment's study. She had barely given much notice to anything in the recent days since the sunken temple. She sat near the window, reading a book.

"Ai, come outside for once?" the elf asked, "It's fun."

"Nan," was the only reply he got.

"Come on," he pleaded, "It's cold and the snow is great."

"Nan," Arah repeated sternly, giving the scout a cold glare. Oh yeah, ice was just lovely.

"Tch," Tarn grabbed the gloves he'd neglected earlier. Barely dressed for winter, he left the same way he had come. Outside would be safe as long as he kept a watch of what was around him.

Outside of town would be even better, Tarn thought, no one would be looking for him out there. So he cautiously moved away from the building and climbed over the fence that separated the inn from the wilderness.

There was something different about the day, but it evaded him as he pushed his way through the thick snow covering the forest floor. He ignored the strange feeling that had been at the edge of his mind and, as the day wore on, forgot it completely. Winter was too fleeting to worry about an unknown impulse, particularly when it could be easily missed when traveling from the Northern to Southern Hemisphere.

Afternoon became evening suddenly, and the snow-laden trees made the night appear darker than it was. A screech sounded in the darkness, a little close for Tarn to be put at ease. Tensing, he watched the movement through the trees and reached over his shoulder for the sword strapped to his back. He remembered as his hand passed through the air that there was no sword; that it had been left behind. Oh well, with any luck he would have no need for it.

Luck, though not absent, was not entirely on his side.

The wyvern that wandered through the underbrush was on its way back from an unsuccessful raid on a nearby farmhouse. Its gray-green scales were dulled by the darkness, and its gray eyes glowed with a feral intelligence. It stood on its hind legs when not airborne, and it held resemblance to a dragon.

Injured enough to be annoyed, but not so that it would die on its own, the creature regarded the small humanoid. The puny thing was not one of the ones that had wounded the wyvern, but the draconian creature saw enough resemblance and a good chance for the meal it had been unable to have previously.

It roared a challenge, and the elf froze. He did not expect to live if he ran. The snow was too deep for effective movement, and the wyvern could fly. On the other hand, he was unarmed and hand-to-hand combat was pretty useless against a creature with skin two inches thick. Not that he was that good at it anyway.

Snow could be and was used as an efficient weapon, but only for so long. In the end, it only served as a distraction and an aggravation. And those ebony claws hurt, though the aggravation of the wyvern probably had no effect on how much.

Tarn stumbled backwards, leaving a bloody trail over the snow as he tried to avoid the creature. In the darkness, the blood appeared black on the white blanket of snow.

In one desperate attempt, the elf hesitantly began to draw a figure in the air. The glow that followed his fingers was enough to make him a bit bolder in his efforts. The fire that suddenly burst into existence before the wyvern was enough of a deterrent to make the creature pause momentarily. The moment was just enough time for Tarn to experiment with his magic and bring a shield made of ice around him.

Collapsing on the ground beneath the shield, he watched nervously as the wyvern examined the thick wall of ice. Hoping that the creature was not as intelligent as the dragons it resembled, the elf examined the cuts in his skin and clothes. To his inexperienced perception, they would heal fine.

The wyvern had encountered mages before. It was annoyed at the prospect of going without a meal, but at the same time it did not want to have to face a magician. Nighttime was not its domain; that belonged to other creatures. Instead of taking its chances, the draconian creature spread its wings and took to the air.

How long he waited afterwards was anyone's guess. An hour, two, three. Half an hour maybe, or six. Cold had rarely bothered him before, but now he found what others might have thought so uncomfortable about it. While he waited, the previous thoughts of the day returned to him.

Winter was his time. He had been born on the Winter Solstice twenty-two years prior. What day was it today? He could not remember. Dates and time seemed to slip by him as though non-existent. But he knew that it could not have been a full year since the last Solstice. It was only December.

But the seasons were switched, he suddenly realized, it was summer in the Southern Hemisphere. December, but what day? The last day he remembered was the fourteenth, so maybe it was the twentieth? Summer Solstice in the region where he was born, he realized. Winter Solstice here.

"Oh," he murmured to himself, breaking through the ice barrier. It made a bit more sense now. The night seemed a whole lot longer.

Looking around carefully, the scout stood. Satisfied, he broke into a run in the direction of the city. He did not stop until he skidded past the irritable guards and through the city gates. He suddenly felt as though he was on a mission of sorts, and rest could wait for another couple of minutes, or hours. However long it took, he already felt delayed.

On the way back, he noticed a larger compound looming at the edge of the city, north of the inn. Curiosity had been satisfied before; it was a well- known university. Scholars, as well as a few warriors and mages were taught and trained there.

Tarn stopped to consider his options. Turning away from the road, he walked towards the main building, which also served as a museum. Getting past the locks was no problem, and soon he was inside prowling the dimly lit halls. He searched through the place for a while, looking for something unique but that would go unnoticed.

Eventually the elf came to a room that he almost passed by entirely. At first it appeared to be just another storage room. Closer inspection exposed it as an examination room of sorts. A small desk with a microscope and various slides, magnifying glasses, and other objects and tools of study took up half the room. A bookcase overflowing with volumes and other objects of interest was crushed into the other far corner.

Looking over the room briefly, Tarn came across a cloth bag. Inside it was a multitude of gems and minerals, most raw and uncut. He almost replaced it before noticing the faint glow that lit up the bag. A small gem that looked like a ruby was responsible for the light. It was about the size of the scout's thumb, and looked relatively pretty for an uncut gem.

There was something else about it, something more unearthly. Whatever it was, the scout ignored it. Tucking it into a pocket, he replaced the bag and left the room. Soon he had made his way outside and was at the inn within ten minutes.

He silently made his way up to the room, and carefully went inside. Making sure he made no sound, even to the extent of holding his breath, he crept into Arah's bedroom. She was asleep, quite deeply from what he could tell. She slept on her side, and her left hand rested to one side of her head.

He almost lost it when he saw the fresh scar that ran along the back of her neck and disappeared under the soft shirt she wore. Smaller, less distinct circular scars were visible in the pale light. It was the symbol of his failure, yet she was marked with it. Not that it really mattered; the Kraken was dead anyhow.

"Twenty-three," he breathed, taking the small glowing gem from his pocket and placing it in the fighter's upturned hand, "Let's see if we can make it two thousand more, shall we?" That being done, the scout left to find his own bed. It was close to morning and he had been awake for nearly two days, so for once sleep would be welcome.

In the morning Arah woke to find the strange ruby in one clenched fist. The crimson-haired warrior did not know where it had come from, but it was rather pretty. So she stuck in with her belongings and forgot about it for a time.

Eventually the gem would become the decoration on the hilt of the Excalibur. It stayed with the sword no matter how many times the weapon was re-forged, though the glow it emitted was rarely seen save by a few individuals. These people often ignored the glow, as no one else saw it. Through forgotten, the silent glow was a symbol of life itself. It was an everlasting symbol of hope.

_**The End**_

* * *

**Working Title**: _Just Another MidWinters' Night_

**Inspiration**: The sword that, for the longest time, cropped up in Amano's Final Fantasy work. Also the desire to craft a wintry story on short notice.****

Noteworthy: Tarn shows his raven tendencies, and the penchant for stealing. When I wrote this, I thought I'd be to this point in the novel project by the following year. Silly me?****

Disambiguation: Somewhat hypothetical, to the point where it could be included with the larger story. I'm not entirely sure, since I haven't written to where this would take place, and I'm not sure how accurately it holds.

_Derivative work of material © Square, Squaresoft, Square-Enix. Reformatted to abide by 'site standards. None of the original text has been modified, 'cept in case of typo. _


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